


At Home in the Drink

by nichelium



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: drinking contests, robots getting irresponsibly drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 16:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6086692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nichelium/pseuds/nichelium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nautica and Riptide have a drinking contest. It probably won't end well. Or it might, depending on your definition of "well".</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Home in the Drink

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this months ago and found it in my Google drive just now. It's cute, so here ya go. Enjoy!

Swerve's was, like always, a bustling hive of activity. People were drinking, talking, and (much to the proprietor's dismay) fighting. It was was a regular evening, and like every regular evening, the regulars were sitting at their regular spots. Skids, Nautica, Riptide, and Getaway were having a lively conversation. 

 

"Who on the ship could drink the most...? Well, other than me, you mean?"

 

When Skids had asked Nautica the question, he had been expecting the mech she mentioned to be someone big, some bulky guy with a lot of mass and a lot of kibble; not someone slight of frame like herself, or, exactly herself, as the case may be. Someone like... someone like Riptide, maybe?

 

And just as Skids thought of the hydrobot, he spoke up. "You? No offense, Nauts, but you're kinda... smallish." 

 

"Size doesn't have anything to do with it. From what I've heard, Ultra Magnus is a total lightweight." Nautica took a swig from her mug, which was about the size of her head, a fact which Riptide had apparently failed to notice. No one else really doubted the femme's claims, of course; she was well-known for being a connoisseur of fine engex, and that tended to require a fuel tank of the highest caliber. 

 

"But he's tiny on the inside. That probably just carries over," Riptide reasoned, "Like, I'm bigger than you, so I could probably drink more than you. That's just science."

 

Nautica flashed an uncharacteristic smirk. "Really, Riptide? You really think you could drink more than me?"

 

"Ooooh, looks like a contest is in order! Swerve! A tray of whatever will get these two smashed the fastest," Getaway called out. Swerve, being the responsible barkeep that he was, always kept a tray of shots at the ready on busy nights like this, just in case someone called for a contest. It happened quite often. 

 

With the tray of neon high-grade shots positioned and the players seated across from each other at the table, Skids began to recite the rules in his best announcer voice. It was only a  _ little bit _ slurred from the engex he’d already ingested that night. "Okay! Let's have a clean match! No enabling of FIM chips, that's just bad sport."

 

"And no secret science-y don’t-get-drunk techniques," Riptide declared. 

 

Skids tried and failed to hold back a laugh. "Right. Nautica, no secret science magic. Are we all agreed? Okay, then! Start!"

 

The two submersible 'bots each took their first shot. Nautica looked fiercely determined, and Riptide looked oblivious as ever. Not long after, they each took their second.

 

\--

 

A bit of a crowd had gathered around the table, interested in seeing how this brains-versus-brawn drinking contest would turn out. Jackpot had even started taking bets. Nautica was the crowd favorite, but the way things were going, money was starting to be put down on Riptide, too.

 

After watching each of them drink more than any reasonable mech should ever drink, Skids was tempted to call the whole thing a draw. Neither of them seemed close to going down. Nautica might have been getting a little tired, but Riptide had approximately the same face and posture that he did at the beginning of the battle. That could be attributed to him being Riptide, though, and he was possibly even oblivious to his own state of mind. 

 

"I'm getting sick just  _ watching _ you guys drink so much," Getaway piped up. "Are you sure you disabled your FIM chips?"

 

"Yep!" Nautica said, just a little too loudly. "Preeeeetty sure!" Nautica never really got  _ drunk _ . She drank a lot of engex, that was for sure, but never enough to get her more than a little overcharged. It was kind of astounding, then, to see the usually collected and chipper engineer take on a much louder and much more brash persona. Whirl's 50 shanix bet of "Nautica gets close to losing and chucks her wrench at Riptide with the force of a thousand Devastators, sending him to the infirmary before the contest ends" was beginning to look like like a possibility.

 

Riptide was silent. Everyone had assumed that drink would make him even more of a chatterbox, but apparently that only made him louder to a point, after which he became unusually quiet. Skids wondered if he'd already passed out, but somehow managed to stay sitting up, with his optics open. His theory was disproved when a short, quiet "mmnuh" could be heard from the blue-and-white mech's mouth. 

 

"You okay there, buddy?" Asked Getaway, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

 

Riptide pushed the hand away. “M’fuhn,” he replied, much more confidently than his earlier statement had been. The noise may not have been words, but it was certainly resolute.

 

Nautica slammed her palm down on the table.  “Ready to give up yet, you fragging sparkling!? Because I’m not!  I’m great!  I’ve never felt better!  I could drink all night!!” The whole bar could hear her. Whirl was cheering her on from the sidelines, quite certain that his prediction would come to fruition. 

 

Riptide answered the question by taking another drink.  His expression was almost a little angry, but mostly blank.  Nautica took her next shot, too, though much more violently, slamming the glass back down on the table.  

 

That was the last drink on their third tray full of shots. Swerve hesitated in bringing them another.  As much fun as the contest was, and as much as he wanted to win the 75 shanix he put down on Riptide, he should also be thinking about the health of his patrons.  He was the proprietor of a respectable establishment, after all. “Skids, should this really go on any longer? I might have to cut them off at this point.”

 

Skids considered the minibot’s words for a while, and came to a conclusion: “bring them each two more shots. If they’re both still standing, we’ll call it a draw.”  It was sensible enough.  Unfortunately, Jackpot overheard the conversation and started calling out for bets on a draw, which prompted an extreme reaction from Nautica.

 

“DRAW!? There’s not gonna be a draw!  I’m gonna  _ win! _ ” She stood up tall, her face no longer a boastful smirk, but straight-up rage. “Give us another tray-- a  _ full  _ tray!” She brandished her wrench like it was a weapon of mass destruction, which it probably could be classified as at this point. Swerve flinched, and hurried behind the bar.

 

“Nautica, c’mon. You’re gonna start purging your tanks soon.  You’ve gotta slow down,”  Skids tried to get her to be calm, but nothing was stopping the femme now. No one could cease the fury of a submarine wronged. The wrench went flying through the air.

 

Luckily, the fury of a submarine wronged didn’t have very good aim. The tool-turned-WMD flew past its intended target, which may well have been almost  _ anyone  _ with the state of fury that Nautica was in, and traveled far to the back of the bar, where few mechs were sitting.

 

Of course, there were  _ some  _ mechs sitting there, and the wrench hit probably the most inopportune target.  It smacked Cyclonus square in the back of the head, denting his plating just a smidgen.

 

The glare of the purple warrior silenced the room. He slowly stood up and walked over to the hushed crowd, Tailgate hurrying after him, likely to pacify the great mech before anything violent could happen. 

 

Cyclonus approached Nautica, and though her rage did not subside, it was joined by a twinge of nervousness. The tall mech towered over her, with a glare that could pierce through steel. 

 

"You've had enough. You should stop," he said. It wasn't a demand, but it had the force of one. 

 

"No way! I'm gonna win! I said I would, and I'm gonna follow through! I feel fine!" Nautica shouted at him. She went to strike him, but Skids intervened before her fist made contact. 

 

"He's right, Nauts. It was fun at first, but you're just gonna hurt yourself. You've  _ already _ hurt someone else. You've had enough-- both you and Riptide."

 

"Um, guys?" Tailgate spoke up, "Riptide's, uh, he's passed out."

 

Sure enough, Riptide had fallen off his chair, unnoticed in the commotion. He was out cold.

 

Nautica punched the air. "Yes! Woohoo! I won! I am the best!" Her cheeks were burning as blue as her optics, and despite her apparent energy, she, too, looked ready to keel over. 

 

Skids sighed with relief. He  _ really _ didn't want to see Nautica get this drunk ever again. "Come on. You should go back to your quarters." He led her out of the bar, supporting her staggering steps. 

 

And with a few words from Tailgate, Cyclonus carried Riptide out, too.


End file.
